It's Christmastime in London City
by Book girl fan
Summary: My responses to Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge 2017!
1. Snowed In

**Prompt from I'm Nova: Snowed In**

"Really, Holmes," Watson said, watching his friend pace restlessly across the floor. "It could be worse."

Holmes whirled, turning on his companion. "Worse? We are snowed in to this cabin, unable to escape and stop our thief, who even now could be returning to London with his gains! Pray tell, Watson, how could this be worse?"

"To start with, we could have been left without any supplies." He swept a hand towards the cupboards, indicating the generous store of canned goods and brightly blazing fire. "And if we are snowed in, our thief likely is as well. Didn't you say that he must have a cabin in these woods for him to store all that he steals?"

"Turning my words against me, Watson," Holmes muttered, but he came to sit on the other chair, staring bitterly into the flickering flames.

Watson handed him his pipe, and they smoked for a few moments in peaceful quiet.

"I suppose it really could have been worse," Holmes finally spoke, mood mellowed by a good pipe and quiet company.

Watson nodded. "In the morning the snow should have stopped, and we can start digging ourselves out."

He turned to empty his pipe, and Holmes caught his wrist. With quiet sincerity, he said, "There is far worse company to have for a night such as this."


	2. Candlelight Vigil

**Prompt from Winter Winks 221: Candlelight vigil**

"Will 'e be alright, Doctor Watson?"

Watson closed his bedroom door softly behind him, sighing as he looked down into the small fearful faces clustered around him. "I will watch him tonight," he said, voice weary. "If he can hold on 'til morning, he should recover. Now, all of you, off to bed."

After a momentary hesitation, the boys drifted away towards the study, talking quietly amongst themselves, and some sneaking fearful glances back at the bedroom door.

Watson leaned against the door, sighing agin, more deeply than before. It was hard to believe that something as simple as a snowball fight had led to this. Really, it should have been harmless, but one slipped foot, a young face frozen in terror as Jamie careened backward, followed by a terrifying crack as the ice broke beneath him... Watson shook the thoughts away, unwilling to recall again that petrifying moment when Holmes had pulled the boy out the ice, lips turning blue from cold and lack of air.

Reentering the room, he pulled his chair over to the bed, settling in for a long stay. Until morning... if Jamie could only survive until morning.


	3. The Irregulars Solve A Case

**These rhymes are far from perfect, but it's what came to mind. Prompt was from I'm Nova: the Irregulars solve a case on their own.**

The Irregulars grouped together

On a cold and windy day,

To solve the mystery of the feather,

Which had fallen in their way.

It was long and it was bright,

A beautiful shade of red.

But when they held it to the light,

It looked almost brown instead.

"Where could this come from?" they all cried.

"We have never seen its like."

"Why don't you find out?" Mrs Hudson replied.

"You never know what you might strike."

So they set out, an intrepid group,

Wandering to and fro,

Only to find a chicken coop,

Before they had far to go.

The chickens clucked all around the space,

As Mrs Hudson stood by.

The chicken coop was her own place,

That she watched with an eagle eye.

"Excellent work," she told the boys.

"And now if you don't mind,

That feather is my nephew's toy.

But I have a reward of greater kind."

She took the boys in to her table.

Where a chicken feast lay prepared.

The boys ate as much at they were able.

Not a single dish was spared.

Mr Holmes had solved greater mysteries,

the boys agreed as one.

But in all his varied histories,

their reward was second to none!


	4. Mrs Hudson's Dance Partner

**Prompt was from mrspencil: Mrs Hudson needs a partner for a dance.**

"I'm so sorry, Mrs Hudson," Dr Watson said, a flush beginning to rise in his cheeks as she helped him back towards his chair. "I would have loved to dance with you, however-"

"Don't worry, doctor." She patted him on the arm. "I am very grateful for your offer, but you just sit and rest that leg of yours. It won't do me any harm to sit out a dance."

"Perhaps Holmes would dance with you?" Watson suggested, lines of pain easing as he settled into the chair, no longer putting pressure on his leg.

"I believe my brother has already returned home," a deep voice interrupted them. "Social gatherings have never been his forte." Mycroft nodded at the two of them. "Good evening doctor, Mrs Hudson. Doctor, I hope you will not mind my stealing your company. I would be honoured to dance with Mrs Hudson in your place, in gratitude for the two of you managing to persuade my brother to attend this event even for the short time he remained."

Mrs Hudson blinked. "No gratitude is required, Mr Holmes. I shouldn't like to trouble you."

"It is a trouble I am more than willing to take." He held out a hand.

Mrs Hudson, with one confused glance back at Watson, took it.


	5. Phobia

**Prompt from Winter Winks 221: An** **unexplainable phobia. Not quite what you asked for, but hopefully it's still good!**

"Mr Holmes, I have an update to the case you may– what in heaven's name is that?!"

Holmes looked up, entirely unperturbed by Lestrade's dramatic cry. "This is a garden snake. Don't worry, it's quite harmless. Garden snakes are not poisonous."

Lestrade did not move away from the doorway, staring at the snake with wide eyes. "But what is it doing in your living room?"

"I believe this snake may be the clue to our murder weapon."

Lestrade's face grew impossibly paler. His fingers began to shake. "You said th-that thing wasn't poisonous!"

"Of course it isn't," Holmes agreed. "Do try to keep up, Inspector. I did not say the snake was our murder weapon, simply it was the clue. Now come with me, I must return to the scene."

For every step closer Holmes took, still carrying the snake, Lestrade stepped back, until he reached the bannister and could go no further. Desperately, he tried to protest. "Wouldn't you prefer to have Watson?"

"Watson is at out on a call with a patient, and will not be back for several hours," Holmes informed him. "You, inspector, are right here. Now do come along."

Lestrade instinctively closed his eyes as Holmes swept past, unwilling to see even a hint of the snake. Then, after a firm reminder to himself that he was a police officer, and there were greater things at stake here than his own silly fears, he continued out after Holmes – remaining, however, several long steps behind.


	6. Mycroft In Peril

**Prompt from Hades Lord of the Dead: Mycroft is in peril.**

Drip.

He stood in the dark, all alone.

Drip.

He had come here with four. Now there was just him.

Drip.

One had run from the danger.

Drip.

Two had died protecting him.

Drip.

One had been the betrayer all along.

Drip.

No one knew where he was.

Drip.

This would be the end.

Dri-

"Holmes, I can hear something!"

"Mycroft, if you can hear me, shout!"

Maybe the end could wait another day.


	7. Trivial

**Prompt from Hades Lord of the Dead: Trivial.**

"John, you know I don't mean to dampen your enthusiasm, but doesn't this seem... a little trivial?"

Instantly, Mary wished she hadn't said anything. John visibly deflated, the light leaving his eyes to be replaced with the all too familiar look of deep unhappiness that had been lurking there since he'd returned from Reichenbach. "You're right, Mary. I'll go put them away." He moved to gather up the little mittens that he had brought in that evening, when he had been eagerly exclaiming about the tiny differences in embroidering between them.

"Darling, no." Mary reached out a hand to grab his arm. "I love that you're so excited about this, really, I do. It's nice to see you looking so lively again. Just, does it really matter so much whether the flowers are yellow or white? The baby's not even born yet."

Both their gazes were drawn to Mary's stomach, which was only just starting to swell. John's smile returned, a soft, fragile thing. "I'm being ridiculous, aren't I, Mary? She won't care what colours the flowers are." He ran a soft hand over her stomach.

Mary covered it with her own hand. "No, _he_ won't care at all."

John embraced her, the two of them standing silently for a moment.

"John," Mary whispered into his shoulder. "If it is a boy..."

He hummed softly in acknowledgement.

"I think we should name him Sherlock."


	8. Lestrade and Gregson's Rivalry

**Today's prompt is from I'm Nova: How did Gregson and Lestrade's rivalry start? I've been procrastinating this one, because this is hard, I've honestly, never thought about it before, but hopefully you'll enjoy this!**

"Gregson?"

"Hmm?" The other detective looked up from his snack to see Lestrade watching him suspiciously.

"What have you got there?"

Gregson sat up and tried to look innocent. "Just a small gift. It was brought into the station for me, you know."

"For you?" Quick as a flash, Lestrade snatched the sweets box off the desk, reading the label aloud. "For the Scotland Yard Detectives, for bringing my mother's necklace back to me. Te-" He mumbled through the next part, before finishing, "Mrs Badem!" He waved the note around triumphantly. "This is for all the detectives, Gregson!"

Gregson licked the powdered sugar off his fingers. "Then I guess you can have the rest."

Lestrade rifled through the box, only to come up empty. "You ate them all already! And-" he sniffed the box, "they were those jellied ones, my favourites!"

"It seems only fair, the best detective got the reward," Gregson replied. "You were barely more than a nuisance on that case."

Lestrade bristled. "And who solved that mystery about the dead body in a kitchen just last week? Where were you then?"

"I was busy finding who had kidnapped young Tom Smith! And I found him alive, too!"

As they continued to bicker, the empty sweet box fell to the floor, forgotten.

 **The words Lestrade stumbled over were 'Teşekkür ederim'. meaning thank you in Turkish.**


	9. Candelabra

**Prompt was from Wordwielder: Candelabra.**

"Murdered?"

This was always the most difficult part, telling the family. I nodded. "Yes, murdered. We believe the weapon used was a candelabra."

"Murdered? With a candelabra?" The young heiress sounded distantly shocked. Well, I supposed, the murder of your dear brother was a rather shocking subject. It was no surprise she was having trouble processing the information.

"Yes, murdered with a candelabra." I confirmed. Maybe hearing it again would help her to understand what had happened.

"But it's Christmas!" Tears started to form in her eyes.

"Yes, miss." I wanted to comment on how murder doesn't stop for the holidays, but I feared making her cry harder.

"Richard doesn't even like candelabras!" She started to sob.

I sighed, handing her my handkerchief. Next time Mr Holmes says, "Lestrade, you can take all the credit for this, leave my name out of it," I will remember this moment, and tell him, "No thank you, Mr Holmes. Give it to Gregson instead!"


	10. Death At The Right Time

**Prompt from Winter Winks 221: Death at the right time.**

Dirt thudded down on the coffin lid, covering up the pink carnations that had been carefully placed on top. Only glimpses of pink remained, the rest choked out by the unforgiving soil.

A couple approached Watson, distracting him from his brooding thoughts. "Sorry for your loss," Lestrade said, his wife's hand clasped firmly in his. "Your missus was quite a woman."

"Mary has been one of my very best friends," Eliza agreed, damp handkerchief clutched in one hand a testament to her grief. "I remember so many evenings spent together, sewing and chatting. She was the first one I told about Thomas, you know. Even before this one!" She leant her body into her husband, a small smile coming to her face. "It's just so hard to believe she's..." A sob escaped her, and she brought her handkerchief up to cover her face.

Lestrade pulled his wife closer, letting her sob into his shoulder. "We'll miss her," he quietly told Watson, before leading his wife away.

Watson returned his gaze to the coffin, vision blurring. It seemed too impossible for Mary to be gone. Just two weeks ago he'd been watching her as she sorted through her jewellery, the two of them laughing together at some small trinket Holmes had bought her as a misguided apology for her getting involved in a dangerous case, and for once, the memories hadn't hurt. Now, she was lying in a box, and he would never laugh with her again.

A hand came up and clapped him on the back. "Hey, doc."

Watson wiped his tears, and turned around. "Murray! I didn't think you'd make it."

"Course I came, doc." He let his hand fall. "Just wish I'd come in time to meet her."

The two of them stood a moment in somber silence.

"She'd been fighting for a long time, mate," Bill finally said. "Maybe it was just the right time."

Watson swiped at his eyes. "Maybe it was," he agreed. In his heart of hearts, however, he could not imagine any time when Mary's death would be right.

 **Pink carnations mean "I'll never forget you."**


	11. A Warming Cup

**Prompt from I'm Nova: a warming cup.**

"There we are, dear, a nice warming cup of hot chocolate for you."

Mary gratefully accepted, the warmth of the cup banishing some of the numbness from her fingers. "Th-thank you, Mrs Hu-Hudson. I'm so-sorry to be such a b-bother."

"Nonsense!" Mrs Hudson bustled about, taking blankets from the cupboard and settling them around Mary's shoulders, until Mary was swathed in a cocoon of warmth. "Though really, I'd thought better of the doctor, leaving you out in the cold like that. I will be having words with him, I assure you!"

"Oh, no, John did nothing wrong!" Mary protested. "I came to surprise him, he didn't know I'd be coming. John would never leave me out in the cold."

Mrs Hudson gave Mary a warm smile. "That's good. It didn't seem very like him, but I've been long enough in the world to know that even the nicest seeming men can do some very terrible things."

Mary held her gaze firmly. "Never John."

"Alright then, dear," Mrs Hudson said, her smile taking on a peculiar twist. "Never John."


	12. Exactly What It Says On The Tin

**Prompt was from Kitschgeist: Exactly what it says on the tin.**

"That's all it says: exactly what it says on the tin."

Watson frowned in confusion. "Exactly what it says on the tin? And that is all that the tin says?"

"Exactly," Gregson confirmed. "You see my problem, Mr Holmes?"

"Quite an interesting dilemma you have there, Inspector," Holmes mused. "May I?" Upon Gregson's nod, he took the tin, turning it around in his hands, examining it from all angles. "It is a former sweet tin, that seems to have been repurposed for this new cause. Much loved by its owner, and several years old. Beyond that, I cannot tell."

"You can't know if the owner loved it!" Gregson protested, snatching the tin back and examining it for himself. "What, did they scratch a message on it with little hearts?"

Holmes drew himself up to his full height, scowling at Gregson. "If you will not accept the truth of even the simplest deductions, you are perfectly able to leave, and solve this mystery for yourself."

Gregson looked alarmed. "Of course not, Mr Holmes. Just curious, that's all. Seems like more than you can tell from a glance."

Holmes relaxed his posture again. "The scuff marks around the edges of the tin show that it has been much used, and opened time and time again. Why would someone not simply buy a new tin, rather than carry around the old one, unless it was much loved? As for it being a sweet tin, and several years old, I have penned a short monologue on the different types of sweet tins throughout the last decade. This one was last produced four years ago."

"And what of it being repurposed?" Watson asked.

"If there were sweets inside, the weight would be spread more evenly, and it would rattle as it was moved. Instead, the weight is concentrated in one space. Whatever is in that tin, it is no longer sweets."

"So, what, exactly," Gregson asked, "is in that tin?"


	13. A Christmas Parcel In A Strange Place

**Prompt is from cjnwriter: A Christmas parcel in a strange place. I've been putting this off all day because I didn't know what to write, but hopefully you'll enjoy this!**

"Mr Holmes!" Our landlady's irritated voice came drifting up the staircase, inciting the attention of both Holmes and myself.

"What have you done now, Holmes?" I asked, a smile coming to my lips. Only the day before Holmes had been berated for accidentally singeing Mrs Hudson's Christmas stockings, and again last week for not stopping the Irregulars from eating the popcorn garlands. As amusing as it was to me, Mrs Hudson had been quite upset.

An irate Mrs Hudson appeared in the doorway. "This is the last straw, Mr Holmes, really it is!"

"I have been in this very room all day, Mrs Hudson, as Watson can attest," Holmes declared. "Whatever has happened to your Christmas presents, I was not involved."

Mrs Hudson looked to me, and I confirmed, "Yes, Mrs Hudson, Holmes has not left the sitting room all day. What has happened?"

Her ire now dispersed, Mrs Hudson collapsed onto the nearby chaise. "I have been wrapping presents all day, and I had just finished wrapping the final one, when I turned around and saw one was missing!"

"Which present was missing?" I inquired. "Perhaps that would provide a clue as to where it went?"

"Yours, doctor! And that was why-" she blushed, eyes cast down. "Not to be rude, Mr Holmes, but I had thought that you may have taken it, for ideas on what you might get the doctor for Christmas."

"Of course, Holmes did nothing of the kind," I forestalled his indignant protest. "Perhaps someone else may have taken it?"

"I would propose a much simpler solution," Holmes said, looking marginally less offended now that I had defended his good character and gift-giving ability. "You had care of Miss Reilly's cat today, did you not?"

"Yes, I did!" Mrs Hudson looked shocked. "How did you know?"

Holmes did not answer, though I could see from the black cat hairs on Mrs Hudson's skirt where he drew his deduction from. "Is it possible that the cat found the presents, and chose to play with them? In my experience, cats are often attracted to shiny things like wrapping paper."

"I suppose it might have," Mrs Hudson said. "But where is the present now?"

"I have a theory." Refusing to elaborate any further, Holmes led the way downstairs, and, to my and Mrs Hudson's mutual bemusement, towards the chimney. He poked around with the fire poker, sending ashes scurrying across the room, until a small black box wrapped gaily with a ribbon dropped to the ground. "Would that be the present?"

Mrs Hudson picked the box off, wiping off some of the ash with her sleeve to reveal bright red wrapping paper underneath. "Yes, this is it! Thank you, Mr Holmes." She wrapped one arm around him in a, from his alarmed expression, entirely unexpected hug. "I should have known you would never take one of my presents."

Mrs Hudson returned to her presents, and Holmes and I returned upstairs, Holmes still looking a bit bemused. "Next time, I believe," he said, "I will let the present stay missing!"


	14. Red Herring

**Prompt was from Kitschgeist: Red herring. My brother also challenged me to include a million dollar bag, and make it about romance. Hopefully this has fulfilled all of** **those!**

"But what about the bag?" I asked. The million dollar bag had been my first introduction to this mystery, and Holmes had not mentioned it at all. It seemed unlikely he had forgotten it, both as he was not a man prone to forgetting, and a stolen bag, valued at one million dollars and which the police force had been hunting for the last two days, was a very difficult thing to forget.

"The bag is meaningless," Holmes said, a slight smile on his lips.

"Meaningless?" Lestrade blustered. "That bag has been at the very centre of this mystery, and still has not been found! I don't know what a million dollars means to you, but to me and Scotland Yard, it is very far from meaningless!"

"It is meaningless because it never existed."

Lestrade gaped.

"The million dollar bag was only ever a ruse," Holmes elaborated. "A red herring, meant to distract us while the young man searched for his bride."

Wilson loosened his grip on his young lady long enough to look at us, tears in his eyes. "I couldn't lose Elsie, I just couldn't!" he choked. "I knew if I said there was a million dollar bag missing, the police would be too busy searching for it to question where Elsie went."

"My father has been looking for me," Elsie continued, wiping at her eyes. "He has been trying to take me back to America, away from my Richard. I said I wouldn't leave my husband behind, but he seemed so determined to take me, I was afraid of Richard getting hurt, so I ... I ran."

Lestrade gave the young lady a sharp nod, collecting his wits in the face of a tearful woman. "You'll be safe now, miss. You and your husband can return to your store, and if there's any more trouble with your father, the police can handle it. As for you," he turned to Wilson, "you'll need to make an announcement about that bag. It has caused rather a lot of fuss."

Wilson nodded, blinking rapidly. "Of course, of course I will, whatever you say." He turned to his wife joyfully. "We're free, Elsie! It'll be just the two of us from now on, no father, no running, just us!" He picked her up and twirled her around as they both laughed in joy and relief. "We're free!"


	15. Sleeping Beauty

**Prompt was from Winter Winks 221: Sleeping Beauty**

"Look," Jamie said, tugging on Wiggins' sleeve. "Look at her, over there."

Wiggins turned to look. His mouth dropped open. "She's gorgeous," he breathed.

The boys wandered closer to the store window, breath fogging up the glass. "She looks like she's asleep," Wiggins said. "D'you think she might be?"

Jamie nodded, curls bobbing up and down. "She's a sleeping beauty, just like the story in the book." His nose scrunched. "I don't want to kiss her, though."

"What abut if she kissed you?" Wiggins teased. "Lots of kisses, all over your face, with her tongue all over you! Like here, and here, and here-!" For each 'here', he poked Jamie's face, causing the younger boy to push his hands away, protesting loudly.

In a few minutes, Wiggins stopped, too busy laughing to continue. Jamie wiped his face with his sleeve, trying to keep frowning. "Look, you woke her up!"

He crouched down in front of the window. The puppy barked happily at him, pushing her nose up against the window. "Hello, sleeping beauty," he told her. "Sorry we woke you. But at least it was better than a kiss!"


	16. The Irregulars' Christmas Eve

**Prompt from cjnwriter: The Baker Street Irregulars exchange presents.**

* * *

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the streets

Were little Irregulars just coming to meet.

They carried their parcels in cold little hands,

Humbly wrapped, in paper quite bland.

Together they met in the dark avenue,

As the brisk wind blew and chilled them right through.

They shivered and shook, but not one would change

The Irregulars' Christmas Eve Present Exchange.

Wiggins went first, as leader of the pack.

He withdrew his present from behind his back.

"I know it's just small," he said with a smile,

"But I think this one will be worth your while."

He handed it to Thomas, who took it with glee,

Unwrapped the paper, folded it carefully,

And took out the present: a pair of gloves,

Paired neatly together like two turtledoves.

"Thank you!" cried Thomas, "It's just what I need!"

"And in blue, the very colour I fancied!"

"What about your present?" said Charlie the Ox.

So Thomas drew out a bulging black box.

"I got this for Jamie," Thomas confided.

"He wanted some flowers, but hadn't decided

What colour he wanted, so I took them all.

One of each, from the park in front of the hall."

That present put aside, for when Jamie returned,

They shared out more presents, each one hard earned.

For this was the Irregulars' biggest delight,

Sharing their presents on this late winter's night.

Finally, each gift had been shared,

Enough for each child to know someone else cared.

It was cold and dark, that Christmas Eve night,

But in the warmth of their friends, they could all feel the light.


	17. Mrs Hudson: Undercover

**Prompt from Hades Lord of the Dead: Mrs Hudson is undercover.**

"Mrs Hudson, what _have_ you been doing?" Watson exclaimed.

"I'm afraid it was very confidential, doctor," Mrs Hudson told him, turning away to carefully place her bejewelled necklace on the mantle. The firelight made the gems inlaid into it sparkle brightly, almost as though they were real diamonds. "All I can tell you is that I was doing a bit of undercover work for Mr Holmes."

"For Holmes?" Watson's brow furrowed. "I must admit, he had me quite convinced he was Christmas shopping today. I never would have suspected he was on a case."

"Oh, he's not, dear," Mrs Hudson said airily. She shrugged out of her wrap, and Watson helped her without even thinking, marvelling at the softness of it. Surely it wasn't real silk? "It wasn't our Mr Holmes. It was Mr Mycroft Holmes."

"Mycroft?" Watson carefully folded the wrap, placing it on the mantle beside the necklace. "I mean no offence, Mrs Hudson, but why...?"

Watson trailed off onto silence, unable to think of a suitably delicate wording.

"Why me?" Mrs Hudson finished for him with a laugh. "I can't be sure, it was all very secretive, but I think it may have been a training for some of his new staff."

"Nothing too dangerous, then?"

"No, doctor." She laid a consoling hand on his arm. "I'll leave the danger to you and Mr Holmes." She patted his arm, then took her hand away. "Now go on upstairs, and I'll be there in a few minutes to bring you a nice cup of tea. It's a bit late for it, but I think we can make an exception."

Watson looked at Mrs Hudson, puttering around the kitchen with her apron tied around her waist, a far cry from the regal and imposing woman dressed in fineries he had seen when he came in. "I'm glad you enjoyed your undercover work, Mrs Hudson."

Mrs Hudson's voice made him pause as he was climbing the stairs up to apartment B. "Thank you, doctor. I really did."


	18. Chocolate

**Prompt was from cjnwriter: chocolate.**

"But what can I get for Mrs Hudson, Holmes?" Watson paced across the floor, stroking his moustache in agitation. "We have caused her such a lot of trouble this year, and she has been very understanding through all of it. It must be something special, but what?"

"Watson, do you really think I, of all people, will be able to suggest the perfect gift?" Holmes asked, raising one wry eyebrow.

Watson stopped and turned towards Holmes, slightly embarrassed. " I was hoping you could deduce something."

"I can tell you that she burnt the little finger of her left hand baking shortbread this morning, that she expects her niece to come visiting next Tuesday, that the milkman was late this morning and she is upset about it, and that she has finished her own Christmas shopping, but I am afraid none of that will help you find the perfect present."

"How did you..." Watson marvelled, before shaking his head and returning to his pacing. "You are right, Holmes, none of that will help."

"Mr 'Olmes! Mr 'Olmes!" A young Irregular came racing up the stairs, feet thundering, and sent the door flying open. "Mr 'Olmes! 'E's moving!"

Holmes jumped to his feet, moving towards the door in quick paces. "Towards the river?"

The Irregular nodded, breathing fast from his run. "'E's got a big bag with him!"

"Thank you, Thomas, excellent work." Holmes was already halfway out the door. "Wait here, catch your breath, and the doctor may have something for you."

As the door blew shut behind him, the little Irregular turned to Watson. "Do you, doc?"

Watson smiled at him. "I think I have a jar of sweets here somewhere. Would you like one?"

Thomas nodded, and within minutes was seated on the lounge, sucking away at a boiled sweet, telling Watson all about his day.

"-and then I followed him all the way up the street, so I could see where he was going. I didn't even stop to look at the chocolate shop! I smelled it, though," he confided. "I could of stopped, it smelled so good. But I'd got a job to do, so I didn't. Didn't even look in the window! I just followed-"

"Chocolate!" Watson cried. "That would be perfect!" He turned back to Thomas. "I'm so sorry, Thomas, I've just had an idea for a Christmas present. I promise, I will listen to the rest of your story, just give me a moment to write this down."

He quickly located a piece of paper from his desk, and scribbled a short note, before sitting back down beside Thomas. "Now, what happened after you passed the chocolate shop?"


	19. Dinner at Simpson's

**Prompt was from Winter Winks 221: dinner at Simpson's.**

"It's been rather a long time since we've done this, hasn't it?" Watson remarked, sipping from his glass.

Holmes nodded slowly. "I suppose it has. That was to be expected, though, with your marriage, and moving out of Baker Street."

There was a moment's silence.

"The food is still as good," Watson ventured, breaking the quiet that had fallen between them. It felt somewhat awkward, sitting here with just the two of them. For a moment, Watson wondered if his marriage had changed everything, if they would never be able to go back to their previous comfortable friendship.

"Yes." Holmes seemed just as awkward, and Watson was not sure if that made him feel better or worse.

He decided he had had enough. He loved Mary with all his heart, and would never regret marrying her, but he would not lose Holmes' friendship because of it either. "Holmes."

Holmes turned his eyes from the window. "Yes, Watson?"

Watson hesitated for a moment, considering if Holmes, as the very private person he was, would appreciate his words. Then he forged ahead regardless. "Holmes, you are my very closest friend. I love Mary very much, but just because I have Mary now does not mean I do not still value our friendship. I just," he stumbled over the words. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that."

Holmes gave him a soft smile. "Thank you, Watson."

The waiter came, and they thanked him as he took their plates away.

Watson settled back in his chair, glass in hand. "So, Holmes, tell me about your latest case..."


	20. Christmas Overseas

**Prompt was from Hades Lord of the Dead - A case means Holmes and Watson spend Christmas in a foreign country.**

It sometimes happened, during the course of my friendship with Sherlock Holmes, that a case would take longer than expected. A witness would be unwilling to cooperate, evidence would be disturbed or unreliable, or there would be a sudden complication that eluded even Holmes' formidable mind. Of course, on most occasions, the most trouble this caused was a restlessness in Holmes' mind at the delay, and frustration on the part of the Scotland Yard detectives who bore the brunt of it. Rarely did it have any greater effect.

One on occasion, however, the effect was quite more dire. Holmes and I had been in France on a case in late December. The case had taken longer than expected, only finishing on Christmas Eve. Of course, at such a time, there were no rooms to be had anywhere in the city, and no way of returning to London until after Christmas. In these circumstances, with Christmas only a day away, and having fully intended to be back in Baker Street days earlier, Holmes and I sought other accomodations.

"Watson!" I turned to Holmes, trying to see him through the busy crowd. I eventually spotted him, his height standing out amongst the mill of people.

"Watson!" Holmes made it through the crowd to my side. To my surprise, on his arm was a woman, small and slight of build, and very fashionably dressed, a hat with a feather covering her white curls. The lines of her face spoke to her many years, and she held Holmes' arm with a gentle but stately air.

Holmes stopped before me, gesturing to the woman with his free arm. "Watson, this is my grandmother."

His grandmother? Whatever I had expected, it was certainly not that. I took the woman's hand and kissed it. "I'm very pleased to meet you."

As surprising as that was, that was nothing compared to what he said next. "She has agreed to let us stay with her until we can return to London."

This was going to be a very interesting Christmas.


	21. Something Was Off

**Prompt was from cjnwriter: Something was off.**

"This is not right." Holmes paced back and forwards across the doorstep, note clutched in his hand. "It is entirely unlike Watson to leave so suddenly. Something is off with this."

His audience of one leant against the door, watching him. "Really, Sherlock, it isn't that strange."

He stopped, turning towards her. "Some of our cases have been quite dangerous, you know. Even if Watson has felt it best not to inform you, you should know that I have enemies, some of whom may use Watson against me. Perhaps even kidnapping him."

"John tells me everything," Mary informed him. "The only cases he does not tell me about are the ones he cannot."

"Then you know he could be in danger this very minute? The way these letters slant suggests that it was written in a hurry, perhaps by men desperate to move their hostage to somewhere more secure." He shook the note for emphasis, then returned to studying it, looking for further clues of what had happened to his Boswell. "I know Watson's writing as well as my own, he would not write so sloppily without the most serious provocation."

"Like his best friend coming to the door just as he is leaving to buy him a Christmas present?" Mary asked, a mischievous smile rising to her lips.

Holmes looked up from the note, uncharacteristically stunned. "Oh."

"This is the first year since you've met he has a chance to actually surprise you, and he's been looking forward to it for months." She held the door open behind her. "Now, would you like to come in for some tea?"

He looked stunned all over again. "Oh- Yes, Mrs Wat- Yes, Mary. I would."


	22. Star Trek Crossover

**Prompt was from Hades Lord of the Dead - Crossover with any fandom of your choice. One day I would love to write more of this, but I am leaving for holidays in about fifteen minutes!**

"Why are we on this planet again?" Ensign Giles muttered to her companion.

Ensign Hughes elbowed her side. "We're picking up the spy, remember? Starfleet's undercover operative, keeping an eye on the Klingons? Now we're at peace, we're bringing him home."

"Then why's our CMO coming?" Both officers looked over at Chief Medical Officer Watson, striding along at the front of the group. Hughes turned to Giles and shrugged.

They came to the designated meeting point, where a man was already waiting, cloak shading his features. The rest of the group came to a stop, but Watson kept moving forwards, a smile growing on his face. "Holmes!"

The man threw back his hood, revealing aquiline features transformed by a large smile. "Watson!"

The two embraced.

Giles turned to Hughes. "Seriously? How does the mildest CMO on the planet possibly know an undercover spy?" Her voice grew, hands gesturing wildly, until she noticed the way Hughes was staring at her. "What?" She looked around. Silence had fallen in the clearing, as everyone had turned to stare at her. She blushed. "Uh, no offence?"

Hughes facepalmed.


	23. Snowman Come To Life

**Sorry this took so long, the site has been sending me error messages every time I tried to upload today. Hopefully I'll catch up in the next couple of days!**

 **Prompt was from cjnwriter: A snowman (or snowmen!) comes to life. Is this a good thing?**

"Holmes?"

"Yes, Watson?"

"Tell me; over there, is that what it looks like?"

"If it looks to be a snowman walking towards us, than yes."

"But - surely it must be an illusion! Snowmen cannot walk! Could it not be the Irregulars, acting out some kind of joke?"

"The evidence would seem to suggest otherwise, Watson. We can see quite clearly all around the snowman, and there is no one close enough to be moving it."

"What about someone inside the snowman?"

"If someone was inside the snowman it would be moving differently. There would also be footprints left in the snow, or drag marks. Instead, the snow is pristine. No, in this case it appears that the obvious solution is the correct one, no matter how impossible it may seem. The snowman is moving."

"And moving towards us."

"Really?...yes, so it is."

"It's almost at the door now."

"It won't be able to get in."

"Are you sure? It does have hands."

"But they are made of snow!"

"If we are accepting that a snowman has come to life and is walking down Baker Street, is it really so much more to suggest that it can open a door?"

"I suppose not... Has it come inside?"

"I can't see it out there."

"The door looks to have been left open."

A knock came from the door to 221B. Watson and Holmes exchanged a long glance.


	24. Music

**Prompt was from Winter Winks 221: Music.**

It was the night of Christmas Eve, and all of London was sleeping softly in their beds, awaiting a morning of presents and joy. Even the children of the street, presents exchanged, had curled up somewhere safe for the night, waiting for morning to come, and bring whatever new fortune it may.

There was just one window still alight. One second story window, on Baker Street, most commonly known as the home of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Those who had met him would remember his companion, Doctor Watson - his companion, it so happened, who was the very one who had lit the lamp that night.

"Watson?"

Watson startled, turning from the window, at Holmes' sleepy voice coming from behind him. He mustered up a smile. "I'm very sorry, Holmes. I didn't mean to wake you. You should go back to bed, I'm sure you need the sleep."

"As do you, my dear doctor." Holmes padded over to his favourite chair, curling up on it like a lazy cat and staring at Watson. "Was it a dream?"

"No, not a dream..." Watson's gaze turned back to the window, looking out on the quiet city. Not a soul was stirring this Christmas Eve, and a low fog lay over the city, giving it a misty, dreamlike air. "Just a memory... more of a thought, really, of another Christmas Eve..." Watson's voice trailed off again, the dim streetlights flickering across his face.

Holmes slowly stood up, unwilling to disturb the pensive air that had fallen over his companion. Quietly, he retrieved his violin from its case, and began to play.

The gentle strains of a violin drifted through the quiet London streets. At the window, a doctor dreamed.


	25. Teatime

**Prompt was from Wordwielder: Teatime.**

"Good morning, Mr Holmes!" Mrs Hudson bustled in, a tea tray in her hands.

Holmes, like he had been every day since the wedding, was curled up in his favourite chair, eyes closed. Despite his usual tidy habits, his hair was dirty and uncombed, and his attire sloppier than she had ever seen it outside of a case.

She placed the tray loudly down in front of him. "You have to eat something, Mr Holmes. It's been days, and I'll not be having the doctor come back to find you half-starved."

"But the doctor's not coming back, is he?" Holmes turned away from her. "He and Mrs Watson have already chosen their new house, and moved all their things. He won't be coming back here."

"Of course he will!" Mrs Hudson raised the lid of the cake tin, letting the smell of freshly baked bread fill the room. "Dr Watson is your friend, Mr Holmes. He'll be back. After all," she called behind her as she left the room, "he hasn't put up with you through all your adventures and moods just to abandon you now!"

Downstairs, she picked up the mail, quickly sorting through it. One postcard stood out, addressed to Mr Sherlock Holmes from an inn in Scotland. Mrs Hudson smiled. Hopefully Mr Holmes would pass on if the Watsons were enjoying their honeymoon.


	26. Holmes Meets Conan Doyle

**Prompt from I'm Nova: Conan Doyle meets Holmes.**

Watson looked up as the book was dropped on to the table. "What's this, Holmes?"

"I happened to meet with a friend of yours today," Holmes told him. He retreated to his chair and perched there, watching Watson intently.

"A friend of mine?" Watson's eyebrows rose, and he picked up the book curiously, turning it over in his hands. " _Captain of the Pole Star_? Holmes, surely you know I already-" He opened the cover, and his voice cut off. Written neatly on the inside front over were the words, ' _To John Watson; most pleased to know you are a fan. Enjoy! Arthur Conan Doyle._ '

Watson's mouth dropped open, a gentle "Oh!" escaping his lips.

"I did know you already owned a copy, but I thought you mightn't mind having this one as well." Holmes reached out to take the book. "Of course, I-"

"Thank you!" Watson burst out. "Holmes, this is an incredible gift. Thank you, my dear friend." He ran his fingers over the cover. "I will treasure this."


	27. Coldest Night Of The Year

**Prompt was from cjnwriter: The coldest night of the year.**

"Brrr!" Wiggins shivered. "It's cold out tonight, guv."

Holmes barely spared him a glance, intently watching the door across the street. "We won't be here much longer, Wiggins."

Wiggins subsided, tucking his hands even more closely around himself. He didn't have any gloves to wear - the pair Dr Watson had given him for Christmas last year had gotten too small, and he'd given them away to Charlie.

"Wiggins, watch that man coming out now," Holmes crouched down, breathing the words into his ear. "He's not Palmer, but he may be connected."

Wiggins nodded, and watched the man closely. The man walked up the street, then, with a furtive glance behind him, took something from his pocket and laid it next to a streetlight. Once he stood up again, he continued down the street, and disappeared around the corner. Wiggins peered closer, trying to figure out what the item he had dropped was. It didn't look very big; only about the size of an envelope. Whatever it was, it may be their best lead.

"Mr 'Olmes!" he whispered. "'E's d-d-dropped s-something on the street up th-there. Might be a c-clue."

Holmes stood up abruptly. "Yes, we'll see what it is, then head home. Palmer seems set to stay in tonight."

Wiggins nodded, teeth chattering, then followed after Holmes as they made their way up the street to the streetlight. Holmes picked up the package, unwrapping it to find an envelope inside. He opened the envelope and read the contents, before turning to Wiggins with a nod. "Excellent work, Wiggins. This is a solid lead on Palmer's organisation."

"Are we going somewhere else, then?" Wiggins asked. He shivered again. It seemed even colder now than it was before.

"Back to Baker Street. I need somewhere to think, and you need to warm up." He started striding back towards the main street, Wiggins struggling to keep up with his long legs. "And tomorrow, I will go out and buy you a new pair of gloves."


	28. Mrs Hudson's Backstory

**Prompt was from Hades Lord of the Dead: Write a story in which more of Mrs Hudson's backstory is revealed.**

"Mrs Hudson?" Watson called. His voice echoed through the lower part of the house. "Mrs Hudson, are you in?"

"In the back room, dear!" Mrs Hudson called back.

Watson made his way through to the back room to find Mrs Hudson sitting in an armchair, fingers gently rubbing over the painting in her lap. The painting was a portrait of a young couple, holding each other close, with wide green fields visible behind them.

"Did you know I used to live in Ireland?" Mrs Hudson asked, voice shaky. "That's where I grew up, a little town outside of Cork. Then I met Patrick." She stroked the cheek of the man in the portrait. "He was a sailor. He loved the sea, dear man. Always talked about the smell of salt on the air, the wind whisking through his hair. I thought he was mad, at first. I only knew fishermen, but he was a tradesman."

Watson murmured a response, not wanting to disrupt the story.

"His ship had docked in at our village, needing repairs. They stayed for months. Each day, he would come to see me, and we talked, and started courting... it was wonderful. My family loved him, and so did Laura- I was a nanny to her little daughter. Laura's the one who painted this." She gestured to the painting, running her finger over the small white signature at the bottom.

"Eventually, his ship was repaired, and he had to leave. But I wouldn't let him leave alone. We got married, and that was that, I suppose." She sniffled, wiping at her eyes. "I never let him leave alone again. Not until..." She wiped her eyes again.

Watson laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I understand."

Mrs Hudson leant back into it. "Yes. I suppose you do."


	29. Artistic Merit

**Prompt was from Kitschgeist: artistic merit.**

"Really, Holmes, you can't see the artistic merit in this?"

"Watson. This is a child's colouring picture."

"But look at the way they coloured it! Beautiful blue skies, the rolling green fields, with specks of white to represent the daisies. You must admit it has merit."

"I must admit nothing, my friend. It is tolerably well done, but nothing special."

"Nothing special in an adult, perhaps, but this is a child of only nine."

"A child of nine has all the opportunity to be creative, add their own touch to their pictures. No, Watson, my opinion holds true. This picture is merely adequate."


	30. Sleigh

**Prompt was from Wordwielder: Sleigh. This is probably a little OOC/AU, but I really enjoyed writing it.**

"Slow down!" Watson shouted.

"It's not me, it's the horses!" Mary shouted back over the storm. The wind whipped through her hair, spattering golden curls with snow. "They're running for their lives!"

"That doesn't help if we don't survive this!"

Rocks reared up ahead of them.

"Mary! Steer around!"

Mary pulled on the reins, guiding the horses around the pile with only centimetres to spare. Watson winced at the sound of the wooden sleigh scraping against stone. "Mary! We need to stop!"

"I know!" Mary spotted something up ahead. "Wait! I have an idea." She steered towards the slope that had appeared off to their left. The horses, now having to pull a sleigh up hill, slackened their speed, slowing from their frantic gallop into a more relaxed trot, before coming to a halt entirely.

The Watsons got out, rearranging their clothes and smoothing back their disordered hair.

"Whatever Sherlock tells you," Mary told Watson. "Next time we investigate something for him, maybe not on our honeymoon?"


	31. Old Friends

**Prompt was from mrspencil: old friends. This seems like such an appropriate prompt to end on, as all of you feel like old friends to me. Thank you for being part of this challenge every year, sending in your lovely reviews (and I will get around to answering all of them!) and especial thanks to Hades Lord of the Dead for setting it up. Really, this is one of the highlights of my year. I wish you all a happy 2018!**

 _"Should old acquaintance be forgot_

 _And never brought to mind_

 _Should all acquaintance be forgot_

 _And auld lang syne..."_

As the familiar tunes of the old folk song rang out from across the street, Holmes and Watson settled further into their chairs.

"I do love this song," Watson said wistfully. "I remember singing it with James when we were boys, running about with the other fellows. I didn't care much for the lyrics then, just the sound, but it was still so beautiful."

"It was Mycroft's favourite too," Holmes murmured, caught in the music. Watson turned to him at the uncharacteristic admission, but didn't interrupt. "He taught me how to play it. I never liked it much, but I played it for him for his birthday."

"You're a good brother," Watson said softly. Such personal discussions were not something familiar to them, more used to quiet companionship, but this was a special night. "I'm sure Mycroft must have appreciated that."

"He did."

A silence fell between them, broken only by the song, still being carried along on the gentle breeze.

"But the seas between us broad have roared," Watson sang quietly along, "From auld lang syne. Very true, isn't it?"

"More true than I would like," Holmes replied. He looked down at his pocketwatch. "I can't stay much longer."

"Not even until the end of the night?" Watson shook his head. "I'm sorry, I know you would stay as long as you can. I'm very glad we've had even this much time."

Holmes reluctantly left his chair, standing up to leave. "I wish I could stay longer, Watson. But the work is never done."

He held out his hand.

Watson, with a choked sob, pulled him into a hug. "I'll miss you, Holmes," he choked into his friend's ear.

Holmes' own eyes filled with tears; he gripped Watson's coat tight. "I will miss you too, my dear Watson. Stay safe." He forced his fingers to let go, and stepped back.

Watson met his gaze, composure slowly returning. "Goodbye, my friend."

"Goodbye." Holmes turned to leave.

"Holmes!" Watson's voice turned him back. Watson, smiling shakily, called out, "Happy New Year, Holmes. Have a good 1918."

Holmes swiped at his eyes. "You too, my friend." He turned to leave again, resisting the instinct to turn back just one more time.

The final words of the song followed him down the street.

" _We'll take a cup o'kindness yet_

 _For auld langs syne."_


End file.
